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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159332">and we’ve been saying it with our eyes the whole time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen'>fromiftowhen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Rookie (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A probably gross amount of hand holding, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:02:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>So much trouble,</i> he’d told her. She’d surprised him, and he hadn’t thought that possible. She wasn’t buying his bravado, and maybe he should have known he was doomed from the start. </p><p>OR — Tim and Lucy find love in a bar, among many other places.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>200</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and we’ve been saying it with our eyes the whole time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Doing things a little differently this time. This will likely be long, but I’ll post it chapter by chapter this time.</p><p>Post-canon for Day of Death. </p><p>In the same universe as <a>a great honor to hold you up</a> and <a>something new to fall into</a>. Likely won’t make sense without that fanon.</p><p>Rating for future chapters.</p><p>I’m @boyfriendsandbusinesspartners on Tumblr. Let’s be friends! </p><p>Thanks to Karla and Amanda for the read throughs!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time he talked to Lucy in a bar, it was over the phone. He barely knew her, even if he’d assumed he did. He’d sized her up on day one and hadn’t changed his opinion much since then, even if that felt a little unfair after how well she’d passed some of his tests. </p><p><i>So much trouble,</i> he’d told her. Her disbelieving <i>uh huh</i> had followed him home that night, kept him awake. She’d surprised him, and he hadn’t thought that possible. She wasn’t buying his bravado, and maybe he should have known he was doomed from the start. </p><p>—————————— </p><p>That conversation plays over in his mind as he pulls his truck into the bar’s parking lot. She’s been on speaker for the entire ride, silent except for the deep breaths he’d been asking of her. </p><p><i>Tim, I need you.</i> Simple. To the point. Haunting enough to bring him to his feet immediately. </p><p>He spots her sitting on the hood of her car, and he pulls up behind her, pocketing his keys and walking toward her. </p><p>“Can I sit?” </p><p>She nods as she looks up at him, and he tries to keep his face neutral as he sits next to her. Her bruising has increased in the days since he last saw her, evident even under what looks like more concealer than she’d normally wear. It shouldn’t surprise him. He knows how healing works. Worse before it gets better. </p><p>“I didn’t want to call,” she whispers, and she sounds angry. At herself, maybe. At the situation. At the world. </p><p>“I’m glad you did.”</p><p>“I thought I could come out here. Face my fears. It’s the middle of the day, for God’s sake.” She brushes hair off her forehead, looking out over the basically empty parking lot. </p><p>“It’s not even been a week, Lucy,” he says, catching her eye. </p><p>She smiles, but it’s fleeting. “You call me Lucy now. That’s new,” she says, sniffling. </p><p>“Don’t get used to it. It won’t happen on shift.” </p><p>“Yes, sir,” she says, but it sounds suspiciously like her disbelieving <i>uh huh</i> had all those months ago. Before he’d known her. </p><p><i>Really known her. Too well.</i> </p><p>She stands, kicking at the dirt of the parking lot with her boot. He recognizes them. He’d held them in her patient's belongings bag while he’d waited for her in the hospital, dirt on the soles matching the dirt on his pants and hands. </p><p>“It could have ended right here,” she says, turning away from him. “Never go to a second location. Oprah taught me that before I ever dreamed I’d be a cop,” she laughs. </p><p>It’s not a funny laugh, and he starts to stand to comfort her, but she turns back to face him. </p><p>“Why didn’t I know, Tim? I’m good, right? I’m a good cop? Or. Or I could be? One day, when you’re finished training me.” </p><p>He nods. “No one could have known.”</p><p>She shakes her head. There are tears streaming down her face, and all Tim wants is a time machine. </p><p>But he’s here now, and that doesn’t change what happened, but it’ll have to help. It has to. </p><p>“My phone fell. Right there. And he picked it up and put it in his pocket and I was so out of it I didn’t even realize right away,” she says. There’s a far off look in her eyes he hasn’t seen since the ambulance ride, and he knows she’s right back there. </p><p>He doesn’t know if it works the same way, or if it’s more painful than beneficial, but he knows that distracting her or making her focus on procedure works. He’s used it more than once. </p><p>“What would you tell someone, right now, if they were in your shoes and this was a scene we were working?” </p><p>She comes back to him a little. “No, Tim. This isn’t— this isn’t time for a Tim test.”</p><p>“Humor me, Boot.”</p><p>She sighs and takes a quick turn around, surveying the parking lot. </p><p>“It was late. It was dark. The music was loud and no one else was around. Even if you’d known, even if you’d screamed the second you were out the door, it wouldn’t have changed anything. You were drugged. He was <i>good, god</i>,” she pauses, swallowing, and he reaches out to touch her arm, but she backs away slightly and continues. </p><p>“He knew what he was doing. He’d done it before. You couldn’t have stopped it. No one could have. You were unconscious before the trunk even… before the trunk even closed. There’s no rewriting what happened. You did everything you could.”</p><p>She’s crying still, and he thought he’d seen the last of her tears in the hospital. He wishes he had. </p><p>He wants to hold her, to offer whatever comfort he can. He knows there’s a reason she called him specifically. But she’d backed away, and he’s not going to cause her more pain right here, right where all this started. </p><p>“Is that— is that right? Is that what you would have said?” She asks. Always, always with the questions. </p><p>He nods, and somehow that makes her cry harder. She folds into herself, and he can’t watch this. </p><p>“Lucy, c’mere.” He’s still sitting on the hood of her car, and he holds his hand out to her. Comfort. Hope. </p><p>She crosses the short distance between them and moves into his space, standing between his legs. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her in, and her tears soak the collar of his shirt as she exhales slowly. </p><p>“You forgot one thing,” he whispers, tightening his hold as she starts to pull away. </p><p>He feels her shake her head against his neck. </p><p>“It’s over. You’re safe now,” he tells her, running a hand through her hair. </p><p>She breathes in, a shuddering sound filling the space between their bodies as she steps away slightly. </p><p>He wants to touch her again, immediately, forever, but he braces his hands on the hood of her car and hops off instead. In the split second before she backs up, he towers over her, their bodies close in a way he’s tried to stop himself from thinking about late at night for months. </p><p>“C’mon,” he says, reaching in his pocket for his keys. “Wanna get out of here?” </p><p>She nods, but doesn’t move. </p><p>“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t ever want to get in that hunk of junk car, either. I’ll drive you home. We'll come back for it later. Possibly.”</p><p>She shakes her head. “No, I. I think it’s important? For me to drive out of here of my own free will.”</p><p>He nods. Maybe whatever idea she’d had when she’d come out here is falling into place. Maybe it’s helped more than he can see right now. </p><p>“But maybe,” she pauses, opening the car door. “Maybe follow me home?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, watching her pull her seatbelt across her chest. He lives in the opposite direction. It’ll take him an hour to get home in traffic.  “Whatever you need.”</p><p>She smiles as he pushes her door shut and she starts the engine. </p><p>—————————— </p><p>He pulls in near her in her complex’s parking garage. The Visitors Only sign stares him in the face as he unhooks his seat belt. He won’t be staying, <i>he gets it.</i> </p><p>She meets him at his tailgate, and he’s prepared to tell her goodbye when she motions toward the elevator. </p><p>“Wanna beer?”</p><p>He should say no. There’s no universe in which him sitting on her couch or on her bedroom floor again is going to make sense. It’s not going to do anything but confuse things when all they should be doing is clearing up. </p><p>But she’s doing that little unsure pursing of her lips, and he just wants to look at her awhile longer. </p><p>He nods and follows her to the elevator. It’s just like it was not even a week ago, driving her home from the hospital. He hits the button for her floor and she smiles, and he thinks about how basically every single thing he’s done or thought about in the last week has had some connection to needing to see that smile everyday. </p><p>That little weightless feeling drops in his body as the elevator comes to a stop at her floor, but it doesn’t lessen as he follows her to her door. </p><p>Not even a week ago, he’d unlocked the door and ushered her inside, the exhaustion from the last couple days and lack of restful hospital sleep had turned her into some kind of walking zombie he hardly recognized. He’d sent her to change clothes while he unpacked some groceries and tapped on the door a few minutes later to find her on the floor, leaning against her bed. </p><p>She hadn’t cried, but he’d pulled her body into his anyway, prepared. Just in case. </p><p>“I’m not ever gonna want to leave this room again,” she’d said, quiet, an edge of humor to her voice. </p><p>But she had. She’d tried. No quit in her. </p><p>He watches her unlock the door now, pausing and turning to him before she turns the handle. </p><p>“I uh. I didn’t see his car downstairs, but I can hear Jackson and Sterling talking in there,” she says quietly, and he nods. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she adds. “We can still sit and have a beer. I still want to.”</p><p>He smiles, and it’s hers. Soft. New. His lips curve in a way he wasn’t even sure they remembered how to. Muscle memory and her face help and it feels like he could look at her like this forever. </p><p>But maybe, while he can still possibly control it, it doesn’t need to have witnesses. He can hold her and watch her sleep, but he can’t talk about it. </p><p>“I do too. But. I should probably just go,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the wall. </p><p>She nods and he thinks she’s going to hug him, and it would be the least intimate thing they’ve done all week, really. But she just puts her hand on his arm, warm and friendly and not enough. </p><p>“Thank you, Tim.” </p><p>“Pretty sure I asked you to stop thanking me,” he says, and she nods. </p><p>“Pretty sure I decided not to listen.” It’s cute and flirty, the way her smile quirks just slightly as she awaits his reaction. If this was a date, it’d be the exact right moment to kiss her, a slow, flirty goodbye to match her smile. </p><p>But it’s decidedly not, and he doesn’t, and now he can hear Jackson and Sterling laughing too. </p><p>“Sounds about right.” </p><p>Her hand is still on his arm, and he watches her remove it slowly. </p><p>“I’ll see you in a week. Don’t forget everything I’ve taught you,” he says, and the gruff edge to his TO voice feels rusty from lack of use. “If you need anything, you let me know,” he adds, softer. </p><p>She nods and he watches her turn the doorknob and head inside before he turns to walk away.</p>
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